


The Worst Slytherin

by krazybaby21



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Possible Future Canon Divergence, written on a whim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-12-04 20:31:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11562801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krazybaby21/pseuds/krazybaby21
Summary: Nick Darling was by far the least Slytherin-acting Slytherin that Draco Malfoy had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Loud, brash, and a bit obnoxious, Nick was a far cry from the cool, composed, and intellectual crowd that Draco was accustomed to. In fact, upon first meeting the boy on the Hogwarts Train in first year, Malfoy would never had the slightest inkling that this oddball would end up in the same house as he. So how exactly did these two boys become the most unlikely of friends?It all started September 1st, 1991....





	1. 1. First Acquaintances

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: I have a tendency to never finish stories, so I apologize in advance if I suddenly stop updating this and never pick it up again. It's really just a fun aside, something to help me destress while working on an original story I'm trying to finish.
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy reading this.

#  **[1]**

##  **First Acquaintances**

 

Draco had just left the compartment that housed Harry Potter and the Weasley boy, feeling quite miffed by the Potter boy’s rejection of his offer of friendship. How _dare_ he? Clearly Potter hadn’t a clue who he was messing with, but he would soon learn. Potter would regret siding with that―that blood traitor. Draco would be sure of it.

He returned to the cabin he’d settled in earlier alone; Goyle had run off somewhere to nurse his wounds and Crabbe had likely gone with him. Those two were two big, dumb peas in a pod and followed each other around like puppies. Draco didn’t mind; he was too busy fuming to even really notice their absence. In fact, he was so distracted that he didn’t even notice that there was someone else in the cabin until they spoke.

“Oh, hello there.”

Startled out of his reverie, Draco froze in the doorway. Lounging on one of the seats was a rather small and unremarkable-looking boy dressed in muggle clothing. Choppy golden hair tumbled into blue eyes, hidden behind thick, black-framed glasses. His faded black t shirt seemed a size or two too large for him and sagged on his slender frame, where his blue jeans seemed almost uncomfortably close-cut.

He sat with his back against the far wall, legs drawn up onto the seat in front of him and crossed at the ankle, a tattered copy of a book resting in his lap. The boy offered Draco a wide, crooked smile that dimpled his left cheek.

“What are you doing in here?” It came out a bit harsher than Draco intended, but the boy didn’t flinch.

Instead, he blinked his big blue eyes, looking slightly surprised. “The rest of the train was full,” he said, with an accent that sounded suspiciously American. “I hope you don’t mind that I parked here.” He closed his book and rose, crossing the short distance and sticking out his hand. “I’m Dominic Darling, by the way, but everyone calls me Nick.”

Draco glanced down at the boy―Nick’s―extended hand. The side of it from his wrist all the way up his pinkie finger was smudged with either pencil or charcoal, Draco wasn’t certain which, and the nails had been bitten down to the quick. It wasn’t the hand of someone accustomed to physical labor, but it most certainly wasn’t the hand of a dignified young man. Also, the young Malfoy was quick to notice, Nick’s hand was shaking ever so slightly. He was nervous―or excited, Draco considered, or perhaps even a little bit of both.

With these factors in mind, Draco came to the conclusion that Nick’s outstretched hand was to be ignored―though a moment later when he brushed it aside, Nick’s momentary look of surprise and hurt sent a flash of guilt running through him as Draco recalled just a few minutes earlier when he’d experienced the exact same rejection. “Malfoy, Draco Malfoy,” Draco responded coolly, biting down his guilt.

Nick’s eyebrows shot up. “Malfoy, huh? I’ve heard of you―your dad’s big cheese in the Ministry, isn’t he?” He plopped down on the seat he’d been sitting on before, not waiting for Draco to reply before continuing. “My uncle works for MACUSA, but I’m not certain what he does.” Nick shrugged nonchalantly, as if it mattered not to him that he hadn’t a clue what his uncle did for a living.

Warily, Draco perched himself on the bench opposite of Nick. “You’re from a wizarding family?” he asked cautiously.

“Yessir.” Nick nodded vigorously, picking up his book once more. Suddenly he frowned, as if realizing something. “You, uh, never did answer my question about my being here. If you want me to go to another compartment, I’ll scram―”

“No, it’s fine.” Draco wasn’t entirely certain why he said it; Nick didn’t seem like the kind of person he would normally associate with, considering that in the first five minutes of meeting, the boy was both American and clearly quite odd. “What house do you suppose you’ll be in?” Draco queried, quick to change the topic. “I hope to be in Slytherin myself―it runs in the family after all.”

Nick tapped his knuckle to his lower lip, thoughtful. “I’m not entirely certain,” he admitted. “Ravenclaw seems to be the berries, but I dunno if I’d be their sort. I’m quite intelligent, mind you, but I don’t think I’d fit in much with them.”

Draco stared at him, puzzled by the odd phrase (the “berries?” What on earth was that supposed to _mean?_ ) but Nick continued, oblivious to the other’s confusion.

“I don’t know that much about Hufflepuff, so I can’t make a sound conclusion there,” Nick went on, “however I have heard quite a bit about Gryffindor. _Too_ much, for my liking. They seem to be a bit full of themselves, don’t you think?” He scrunched his nose up in distaste.

Despite himself, Draco found himself grinning. He quickly wiped the expression off of his face, though there was a glint in Nick’s eyes that suggested that he wasn’t as oblivious as he appeared.

“I suppose that leaves Slytherin.” Nick frowned softly. “It has a pretty terrible reputation, doesn’t it? Numerous dark wizards were once in Slytherin house, including the infamous Hitler of the Wizarding world himself, Vol―You-Know-Who.” It seemed that he was about to refer to You-Know-Who by name, but had caught himself just in time, though he hadn’t seemed afraid of the name himself. Draco realized that Nick had probably censored himself as not to garner a negative reaction from Draco. “Of course,” Nick continued brightly, “the famous Merlin was also a Slytherin, and just because a good portion of the bananas in the bunch are rotten doesn’t mean that all of them are.”

_What an odd way of looking at things,_ Draco mused. Was it an American attribute to be so strangely and blindly optimistic, or simply a Nick one?

Anyway, Nick most certainly didn’t look like he’d fit in in Slytherin house. He was so radically different that it was almost comical; Draco could scarcely imagine this peculiar, slightly eccentric American mingling with the highly respectable company that made up the majority of Slytherin students.

Nick acted more like a _Gryffindor_ , if Draco was being honest, with his blunt and somewhat bizarre way of speaking and his ever-shifting moods. He even _looked_ like a Gryffindor―the cocky, composed way he held himself that sparked with repressed hyperactivity, the messy, carefreeness of his appearance, the dimpled smile and long lashes that promised that in a few years he’d be a heartthrob of witches all over school, and he knew it. Draco was reminded of the few stories his mother had told him of her cousin Sirius Black from when he was in school, though Sirius had apparently had an adamant hatred for Slytherin house that wasn’t present in Nick.

“That’s...that’s one way of looking at it,” Draco said dumbly, unsure of how to respond to Nick’s comment.

Nick grinned and nodded. “I get that a lot.” With that, he pulled his leg up to rest the ankle on the knee of his other, and flipped open his book to the page he’d left it. Draco, figuring that this signalled that their conversation was hence over, began to wonder intensely what he was supposed to do when the only other person in the cabin wasn’t speaking to him. The silence didn’t last very long, however, for a few long moments later, Nick glanced back up at him and said, “I don’t suppose you like to read, do you Draco?”

Malfoy blinked, surprised, before replying. It was strange hearing his first name said so casually in conversation―even Crabbe and Goyle, the closest thing he had to friends, referred to him by his surname. “Actually, I find it quite enjoyable,” he replied once he gathered his wits once more, “depending on the subject matter, that is. Why do you ask?”

The other shrugged. “Curious, that’s all. You seemed like the kind to be well-read.” And that being said, Nick fell silent for good this time. He returned to his book, and save for the occasional snort or exclaim of disbelief at whatever was written on those pages, he didn’t speak again for the entire train ride. He nodded a thank you to Draco when Draco reminded him that they needed to change into their robes, but was otherwise so engrossed in whatever he was reading that he didn’t utter a word.

When the train docked at the station, Nick bid a quick farewell to Draco, shoved his book into the pockets of his robes, and disappeared into the fray of other students leaving the train. Draco wasn’t to see the strange boy again until the Sorting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nick has a tendency to use old-fashioned slang---as evidenced above.
> 
> Big cheese: hotshot; someone important
> 
> Berries: (as in "it's the berries") the best
> 
> Scram: leave quickly


	2. 2: The Hat To Cap Them All

#  **[2]**

##  **The Hat To Cap Them All**

 

 

Nick Darling was by no means calm as he followed the rest of the first year students into the Great Hall.

He was perhaps the farthest thing from calm; bouncing up and down as he walked, shaking his hands as if he were trying to get water off them even though they were completely dry, rocking back and forth on his heels. He was a bundle of pent up energy, both excited and terrified at the exact same time. The eyes of the older students on them didn’t exactly help his nerves; his heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings in his chest and his hands were trembling so much that he had to ball them into fists to keep others from noticing. Hoping to put himself a bit more at ease, he took to looking about the Great Hall to distract himself.

It wasn’t called the “Great Hall” for nothing. It was  _ huge, _ larger than any single room Nick had seen in his entire life. The ceiling was so very high that it lay in shadow―no, that was the  _ sky _ that he saw, an inky darkness splattered with tiny diamond stars. It was as if the walls simply faded away into the night sky, though Nick suspected that it was in actuality some sort of enchantment. The room was lit with an innumerable amount of candles that hovered in mid-air over the four, long tables that stretched nearly the length of the hall. At the very far end, a table not near as long sat horizontally along the wall on a slightly raised platform, and sitting behind it were a number of unique-looking witches and wizards that Nick took to be the teachers. The four tables each sat hundreds of black-robed students, though from snatched of colours in their ties and on their robes, Nick gathered that each table sat a single House. Upon the walls, four large tapestries―two on the wall to his left and two to his right―each boasted a Hogwarts house and their crest; Gryffindor’s lion, Hufflepuff’s badger, Ravenclaw’s eagle (wait, what?), and Slytherin’s serpent.

“Awesome,” Nick breathed, positively giddy.

Professor McGonagall, the tall, spindly witch dressed in emerald green, lead the first years to the front of the hall to stand before the teachers’ table. While Nick was still gawking at the rest of the hall, she placed a three legged stool on the stone ground and atop it a tattered, frayed wizard’s hat.

The hall fell silent, every pair of eyes fixated on this hat, as if waiting for something. A few heartbeats later, to Nick’s uttermost surprise and delight, the brim of the hat ripped open of its own accord and the bloody thing began to sing.

 

“ _ Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, _

_ But don't judge on what you see, _

_ I'll eat myself if you can find _

_ A smarter hat than me. _

 

_ You can keep your bowlers black, _

_ Your top hats sleek and tall, _

_ For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat _

_ And I can cap them all. _

 

_ There's nothing hidden in your head _

_ The Sorting Hat can't see, _

_ So try me on and I will tell you _

_ Where you ought to be. _

 

_ You might belong in Gryffindor, _

_ Where dwell the brave at heart, _

_ Their daring, nerve, and chivalry _

_ Set Gryffindors apart; _

 

_ You might belong in Hufflepuff, _

_ Where they are just and loyal, _

_ Those patient Hufflepuffs are true _

_ And unafraid of toil; _

 

_ Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind, _

_ Where those of wit and learning, _

_ Will always find their kind; _

 

_ Or perhaps in Slytherin _

_ You'll make your real friends, _

_ Those cunning folk use any means _

_ To achieve their ends. _

 

_ So put me on! Don't be afraid! _

_ And don't get in a flap! _

_ You're in safe hands (though I have none) _

_ For I'm a Thinking Cap!” _

 

The entire hall burst into applause, Nick very much included. However amazing the hat’s song was, it did very little to reassure Nick of his insecurities. He doubted that he’d fit into Gryffindor if they truly valued bravery; Nick was quite possibly the most cowardly person he knew, though he was much braver than some―or much more stubborn, more like. 

Ravenclaw still seemed very much like a place that his brother Chase would excel in, the nerd, but unfortunately Chase was attending Beauxbatons per request of their―ugh―mother. Nick quickly pushed aside thoughts of his brother―they’d never been more than a mile apart before, and the absence was unbearable. Twins had a special bond that other siblings just didn’t, and Nick missed Chase terribly. If he needed more of a reason to hate their birth mother, this was it.

Hufflepuff didn’t seem too bad; Nick certainly liked to think he was loyal, though he’d never really had the chance to test it. Also, he’d overheard from another student that the Hufflepuff dorms were right next to the kitchens, which was always a plus. There wasn’t much at all that Nick could find wrong with Hufflepuff House other than the fact that he looked absolutely  _ horrid _ in gold―another reason he wasn’t too big on being in Gryffindor, either.

And then, of course, there was Slytherin.  _ Perhaps in Slytherin you’ll find your real friends; those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends. _ Nick was admittedly good at getting what he wanted, but ‘cunning?’ ‘Use any means’? He was suddenly feeling less and less sure of his belonging here.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” announced Professor McGonagall, who was now holding a large roll of parchment that had not been in her hands a few minutes previously. “Abbott, Hannah!”

Nick watched uneasily as a blonde girl with pigtails stumbled up to the hat and put it on, only to join Hufflepuff a few moments later after the hat declared it to be so. Within the first dozen names, Nick had quickly worked out which tables were which; the one to the far left end of the hall (or far right, if one were facing the teachers’ table instead of the grand doors, as Nick was) was Gryffindor, the next one over Ravenclaw, the next Slytherin, and finally the closest to them was Hufflepuff.

Soon, far too soon, Professor McGonagall called out his name.

“Darling, Dominic!”

Nick flinched at the use of his full name but willed his legs, which had turned to some painful mixture of jello and lead while he’d been waiting, to carry him up to the front of the hall. He felt eyes on him, so many eyes staring openly at him, and his heart decided to run a marathon in his chest. He was shaking so badly when he took the the hat that it was a miracle that he didn’t drop it. Positively collapsing onto the stool, Nick dropped the hat onto his head, where it slipped down over his eyes and nearly knocked off his glasses. The last thing he saw before his vision was obscured was the flaxen-haired Draco Malfoy peering at him from the crowd of yet-unsorted first year students.

_ “Hmm… _ ” said a small voice in Nick’s ear, nearly startling him out of the wits. It took all he had to not fall off the stool and embarrass himself in front of the entire school, though by the faint snickers, his shock hadn’t gone unnoticed. His cheeks grew quite warm as the hat continued to speak in his mind.  _ “Interesting… Not a bad mind, not at all. Strong-willed, I see. Plenty of ambition as well… I know just where to put you _ ―”

Nick was hardly surprised when, a moment later, the hat proclaimed “SLYTHERIN!” to the entire hall. However, it seemed that everyone else was a bit stunned; besides a bit of sparse applause here and there and the heckles of a pair of red-headed older boys sitting at the Gryffindor table, the room was completely silent. Nick had half a mind to flip the pair off as he shucked the hat and headed for the Slytherin table, but decided that he’d rather not get in trouble on his very first day of school here, so he settled for sticking his tongue out childishly at them. The two boys shared a look and fell silent, and when they looked back at Nick they were grinning.

Feeling a bit uncomfortable, Nick took a seat at the Slytherin table next to a large, bullish girl he recalled to be “Bulstrode, Millicent” and glanced around at his fellow Slytherins. Quite a few of them gazed back at him coolly, appraising him as if he were some sort of jewel―or perhaps as if he were a bug and they were looking for the best way to squash him. Defiant, Nick glared back at them until they all looked away, though he really just wanted to curl up and disappear. Most of Slytherin house seemed to be very high caliber―or at least, they acted as though they were very high caliber. Nick would bet that a majority of them were from wealthy, distinguished wizarding families, like Malfoy.

What was he doing here? He was just a farm boy from small town America. The only reason he was even attending Hogwarts instead of Ilvermorny was because his father was originally from England, and had attended Hogwarts in his day. Nick sighed and stared down at his hands, knitting his fingers together in his lap. His father’s ring shone out, silver and heavy, on his right hand.

_ It was strange for me when I was sorted into Slytherin, _ Nick’s father had said, weeks previously, when Nick had voiced his concerns about being sorted.  _ This was at a time when Voldemort was still at large, you know, and many of my housemates were avid supporters, or from families that were. I felt like the only Slytherin there who didn’t care for all the blood-purist hype, despite my being from a distinguished Slytherin family. Things have changed, surely, since my time there, but should you be sorted into Slytherin, never feel like you’re out of place. Worry not; you’ll find friends as I did, even if they are not in your house. _

_ Sure, Dad, _ Nick thought glumly, turning to look back at the Sorting.

Draco Malfoy, unsurprisingly, soon came to join Nick at the Slytherin table. He sat on the opposite side with two blokes that were built like boulders―”Crabbe, Vincent” and “Goyle, Gregory”, Nick remembered, though he wasn’t certain which was which anymore. Draco’s gaze swept over and met Nick’s for a single heartbeat; Nick offered a smile that wasn’t reciprocated, and then Draco looked away.

Nick scowled. It seemed that his first chance of finding a friend was dashed against the rocks. He hardly glanced up when “Mors, Trygve”, a hyper kid with curling dark hair and olive skin, was called up to the hat and announced a Hufflepuff a moment later. He hardly blinked when the infamous name of “Potter, Harry” sent the rest of the hall into fits. He hardly moved or said a word for the rest of the night, not bothering to eat much at all―he found that he’d quite lost his appetite. Even when the rest of the hall had started to sing the school song, per request of Dumbledore (and seemingly to the annoyance of the other teachers), Nick remained uncharacteristically solemn.

What a fantastic start to his first year at wizarding school, Nick thought sarcastically as Dumbledore dismissed them back to their commons. What would befall him next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name mentioned above, "Mors, Trygve", is a reference to the story I'm working on. Actually, all three of the original characters in this so far, Nick, his brother Chase, and Trygve, are characters from my book, but I decided to throw them into the Harry Potter world for the hell of it. I dunno how important Tryg and Chase will even be in this fanfiction, but *shrugs* oh, well.


	3. 3. Facilis Descensus Averno

#  **[3]**

##  **Facilis Descensus Averno**

 

The Slytherin commons lay somewhere in the labyrinth that was the dungeons. Why a school had dungeons, Nick could only imagine, though he supposed that it really did fit in with the medieval castle thing they had going on. They descended down a set of stairs at the end of a long corridor, down into a dark, eerie passageway that was a far cry from the warm, well lit corridors of the main castle. Nick shivered as a chill rose up to meet them, a chill that settled into his bones, making him hug his robes closer around his body. It was as if the Ninth Circle of Hell had relocated itself to Hogwarts School.

_ ‘The gates of hell are open night and day,’ _ thought Nick, peering into the gloom.  _ ‘Smooth the descent, and easy is the way.’ _

He nearly tripped on the last step, sending him vaulting into the girl in front of him. She shot him a venomous glare even as he stammered a quiet apology before turning away, muttering something about stupid first years.

Dark, dank, cold, and formed of rough-hewn stones, the Dungeons seemed like precisely the kind of place that Slytherins would make their nest. Nick no longer questioned the choice; it fit the house perfectly. Biting his lip, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a dire mistake in thinking that Slytherin wasn’t simply a house of dark wizards.

The prefect that lead them there, a tall, pinched-face girl with dark brown hair and slate grey eyes, informed them all that the password was  _ “Ad astra” _ , something Nick found quite ironic, given that it was Latin for “to the stars”, and they were currently underground. He didn’t voice this, however, for he had no one to whisper this to. In this moment, he felt terribly lonely, even more so that before.

It was only after the prefect―apparently her name was Giovanna―stated this password to the seemingly plain stretch of stone wall that they’d stopped at did the intention become clear. The outline of an archway glowed faintly upon the wall for a brief moment, and then the stone inside the outline began to fold back like paper. A heartbeat later, a large archway had appeared, revealing a long passage that opened out into a very viridescent room.

The common room was admittedly, quite impressive. Large and cavernous, it boasted the house colours quite loudly. The velvet, low-backed couched that flanked the grand, crackling fireplace were black and emerald. Large, cathedral-style windows were set into the wall, the glass revealing the murky depths of what could only be the lake they’d crossed over earlier. Paintings of stern-looking witches and wizards in Medieval garb―famous Slytherins, no doubt―were hung up here and there, quite a few of them apparently painted to appear as though they were sleeping. Orb-like lanterns hung from the ceiling and walls, casting a dim, greenish glow about the room.

Above the fireplace a large tapestry was displayed proudly, depicting a black serpent on a jade background, with the words  _ VIAM INVENIAM AUT FACIAM  _ stitched in silver around the base of it. It was a phrase that Nick was unfamiliar with. He might’ve asked, if he hadn’t been so wary of Giovanna and if a voice hadn’t spoken beside him.

“You seem confused.” It was Draco, suddenly void of his two bodyguards. His voice had taken on a pompous tone that it hadn’t held on the train; he sounded almost pleased that Nick was puzzled.

_ Oh, so now you’re talking to me, _ Nick wanted to say, but refrained from it. “What does that phrase mean?” he asked in a hushed voice, gesturing to the tapestry. “I don’t know it.”

“‘ _ I will find a way, or I will make one,’” _ replied Draco after a long moment. “It’s Latin.”

“I  _ know _ it’s Latin,” Nick responded tersely. “I’m not an idiot.” He forcefully brushed back a curl that had tumbled into his eyes and shoved his glasses up on his nose with his forefinger. His sudden anger seemed to catch Malfoy by surprise, for the boy took a step away, looking startled. “Thanks,” Nick added after a long moment, feeling slightly guilty for snapping at him.

He didn’t get a response.

 

Dorm rooms, it seemed, were shared by only four students at a time. Nick ended up rooming with―naturally―Malfoy and his sluggish cohorts, which left him in a room of people who likely hated him. Lovely. 

At least the rooms themselves were nice; spacious and grand, with four elegant four poster beds from which dark green, velvet curtains hung situated in each corner, each accompanied by a chest that sat at the foot and a bedside table on either side. A small fountain where the stone statue of a snake spat water into the air was set into the floor in the very center of the room. The far wall was made up of windows much like the ones in the common room, one of which housed a large, plush window seat. Glowing lanterns hung at regular intervals along the walls, basking the room in brilliant pale light.

Nick’s luggage had been left by the bed in the far right corner. He spied his leather case and the canvas kitty carrier that his father had bought him to carry his familiar in while travelling; the grey, dark-speckled face of his kitten was pressed to the mesh siding, her paws scratching at the door. “I’m coming, precious!” Nick said aloud, rushing over to her cage. Behind him, his roommates snickered.

“A cat?” drawled Draco from his own bed, which was coincidentally just horizontally opposite of Nick’s.

“Not just any cat,” Nick said, deftly unlatching the carrier’s door and pulling the tiny, sleek kitten into his arms. “An Egyptian Mau. I named her Bastet.” He scratched Bastet behind the ears. She purred and slitted her eyes, rubbing close against the fabric of his t-shirt. “Why? What’s your familiar?”

Malfoy gestured to a gilded cage that sat atop his bedside table. Inside, a majestic black owl was preening its feathers, ignoring the humans around it. “Her name is Circe,” he said smugly, laying back on his bed as if it were a throne.

Nick’s eyebrows raised. “As in the sorceress from Greek mythology?”

“Yes.” Malfoy’s complacent look vanished. It seemed that he hadn’t expected Nick to know the name.

_ Joke’s on him, _ Nick thought, sitting down on his bed.  _ I’m a mythology nut.  _ Bastet wriggled out of his arms and jumped onto the bedspread beside him. She stretched and yawned delicately, displaying tiny, sharp fangs. Nick followed her lead and fell back onto his bed. “I should probably warn you,” he said casually, gazing up at the underside of the canopy of his bed. “I have a tendency to sleep-jinx, so if you wake up in a full-body bind or with purple hair, I apologize in advance.

Much to Nick’s delight, Malfoy looked appalled. It was only when Nick flashed him a devilish grin did he seem to realize that the boy was joking.

Maybe this arrangement wouldn’t be too bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Facilis Descensus Averno: "Easy is the Descent into Hell." It's another, more common translation of what Nick thinks to himself at the beginning of the chapter.
> 
> Ad astra: "To the stars." The only Slytherin password we know is from 1992 (Chamber of Secrets), and according to Pottermore, the password changes regularly every fortnight, so I'm gonna be making up a lot of them. Expect more Latin to come, because---well, Latin.
> 
> Viam Inveniam Aut Faciam: "I will find a way, or I will make one." As far as I could find, Slytherin house did not have a motto, so I did a little bit of searching. This phrase seemed to fit the Slytherin aesthetic of using any means to achieve their ends, so bada bing bada boom Slytherin now has a motto. Voila.
> 
>  
> 
> Yes, I have a weird thing for Latin. I think it's cool, I use it as often as I can in my stories, and even my girlfriend was top of her Latin class. Sue me.


	4. 4. Writer's Block

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick writes a letter and makes a friend.

#  **[4]**

##  **Writer’s Block**

 

_ Dear Chase, _

_ How’s life treating you? _

Nick cringed and scratched it out quickly. Nope, that wasn’t the way to start this. Ugh, why was he having such trouble getting the words out? Chase had always been the eloquent one, had always been the one with a word for everything, but this was just ridiculous. Nick could hardly write a sentence without second guessing it. 

He’d never had trouble talking to Chase before. 

Of course, he’d never had to talk to Chase via letter before either…

Sighing, Nick closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. One of the goons was snoring irregularly, a sound that should have echoed off the stone walls if it weren’t for the sound charm that had thankfully been placed on the room. Now it was just a mild annoyance, a background noise―one that Nick could have easily drowned out if he had his Walkman, but Dad had told him that the magic that soaked the air at Hogwarts tended to tamper with no-Maj technology, so he’d left it behind. Now he was longing for the somewhat warped sound of some of Dad’s old cassettes.

It was really kind of peaceful, quiet in a way that Nick was unaccustomed to. It was strange not hearing the creaking of the century-old farmhouse settling in the middle of the night or Chase’s even breathing in the bed beside him. The click of kitty claws on linoleum floors as Bastet explored the basement room. The sound of gravel crunching under sturdy work truck tires as farmers and farmer kids drove down the country road in the wee hours of the morning.

In comparison, the dorm room felt incredibly quiet. Sure, there was Tweedle Dum’s snoring, the deep breathing that indicated that his roommate were all asleep, the occasional rustle of shifting fabric, and the faint gurgling of the serpent fountain, but they were all such strange sounds somehow, despite being so mundane.

Nick sucked in a deep breath and ran a hand over his face, nearly knocking his glasses off in the process. The dungeons had that somewhat musty old stone smell that was nearly impossible to describe, which combined with the surprisingly minty and earthy scent that seemed to cling to everything Slytherin, provided an odd combination that Nick was still getting used to.

In short, just about everything about Hogwarts made it impossible to pretend that he was at home.

Nick fixed his glasses and turned back to the letter, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he finished it. That had been the reason he’d woken up panicking nearly a half hour before, after all. He’d never slept in a bed alone before; he and Chase had shared a bed for as long as he could remember. It had been disconcerting to not know where he was or why he was alone. 

At least he’d figured out where he was before he’d called out Chase’s name, which had been on the the very tip of his tongue. Malfoy would probably make fun of him for it, and then Nick would get detention for socking Malfoy in the nose, and that would not be the best way to start his first year at Hogwarts.

Frowning, Nick shifted into a slightly more comfortable position. The fabric of his sheets felt odd against his bare legs; they were made cotton, or something similar, not uncommon for a normal comforter but a far cry from the fuzzy blankets that Nick favoured at home. It only served to remind him that he was thousands of miles away from that cozy farmhouse that he simultaneously hated and loved. Far from his basement room with his overflowing bookshelves, his perpetually unmade bed, his wall of polaroids. Absently, he reached out for someone he knew wasn’t there―and quickly retracted his hand the moment he caught himself.

Setting the tip of his pen back to the paper, Nick began to write again.

 

When the curtains of Nick’s bed were yanked open later that morning, Nick was curled up with the sheets pulled up over his head. He’d long since given up attempting the letter and had instead tried to get some actual sleep, with little success.

He let out a low grown as light pierced through his blankets and illuminated his eyelids, revealing the tracery of veins that snaked beneath the thin layer of skin. Silently cursing quite colourfully, Nick tossed the blanket away from his face as dramatically as he could muster.

The light was, as he quickly and very intelligently deduced, coming from the room beyond his curtains, which had been opened by a very annoyed and very blurry Malfoy. Nick couldn’t make out Malfoy’s features without his glasses, but there was something about the boy that just emanated irritation. If this were an anime, Nick supposed that he would have seen a very fuzzy crimson tick mark appear on Malfoy’s very blonde temple, but this was not an anime and therefore he did not.

Nick turned to Bastet, who was curled up on his pillow. “Sic ‘im, Bas,” he mumbled, gesturing vaguely to the glaring Malfoy.

The kitten opened one eye, made a snorting sound, and went back to sleep. Welp, there went Nick’s plan to train a legion of hyper-intelligent guard cats and become a millionaire by selling them to the no-majs of the world. “You useless puss without the boots,” Nick snapped out, though it lacked any venom. 

Bastet flicked her tail at him in response, whapping him in the face. 

_ “Ack!” _

After giving the cat a very stern glare, Nick sat up and turned his attention back to the one who had woken him in the first place. “What’s your reasoning for waking me, Malfoy? It had better be good, or else I’ll make that warning of hexing you into a promise.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, clearly absolutely terrified of Nick’s sleepy threats. “I came to tell you that if you don’t start getting ready, you’ll be late for class.”

Nick yelped and leapt out of bed, practically shoving Malfoy out of the way. “Thanks for telling me sooner!” he snapped at the blonde, and rushed to get ready. He had a letter to finish, class to get to, and an owlery to find. He couldn’t afford to be late!

 

Nick was a bit startled to find that a new uniform was sitting atop the chest at the foot of his bed. The one he’d changed into on the train had vanished, replaced by a set that now proudly boasted his new House colours. In fact, all five sets that he’d brought―even the ones he’d left packed away in his trunk―had been vamped up. The Slytherin crest had been stitched onto the once plain grey sweaters and sweater vests, as well as the black robes he’d bought. The inside of the hood of the robes had been lined with fabric of an emerald green, and a silver and green striped tie had mysteriously appeared amongst his stuff.

Nick had never been much for uniforms, and had always been a great opposer of such stiff dress codes, but for once, he didn’t feel like getting in trouble for not wearing it. So he compromised, much to the disapproval of his roommates, and wore a pair of jeans and his Chucks instead of the stuffy trousers and Oxford-like shoes he was supposed to don. If he got in trouble, so be it; he’d be damned before he had to wear those God-awful shoes ever again. He’d already gone through that nightmare once.

Unfortunately, he’d missed breakfast due to his oversleeping, so Nick had to rush and get to class the moment he left the dorms. Finding Transfiguration that morning was a bitch, and Nick managed to get horribly lost on the staircases. They constantly moved, from place to place, always shifting their routes, and to someone who was hardly used to  _ two _ sets of staircases in a school, let alone a hundred and forty-two of them that were all enchanted. 

He felt a little bit better after running into two first year Gryffindor boys that were having the exact same problem. They’d seemed a bit wary of him when seeing the Slytherin crest displayed proudly over his heart, but when Nick had warned them that the door they were about to attempt to go through was the one that Headmaster Dumbledore had expressly stated was to the forbidden corridor, they’d seemed slightly less judgemental. They’d managed to find Transfiguration together, and from there Nick pointed them to their History of Magic class. The two Gryffindors had introduced themselves―the tall, gangly ginger with freckles was Ron, the scrawny one with wild hair and brilliant green eyes was Harry―and then they’d parted ways.

Nick managed to avoid Malfoy for the majority of the morning, thank god. He breezed through Defence Against the Dark Arts, scribbled down some half-assed notes on levitation in Charms class, and finished writing his letter to Chase instead of paying attention to Professor Binns in History of Magic. Despite the protests of his stomach, Nick skipped out on lunch too to find the owlery wing. After a rather nerve wracking conversation with Giovanna, he found the right of way and headed off for the tower, the letter tucked safely in his robes.

The farther he walked from the Great Hall, the more eerie the halls seemed. The sound of chatter faded away until all that could be heard what the  _ tak tak _ of his rubber soles against the hewn stone, the ridges worn smooth from thousands of students walking this very path before him. The occasional ghost would float through the wall and startle him, say hello, and then disappear again, but otherwise, he was completely alone. It was…nice. 

Humming to himself, Nick didn’t even notice the second pair of footsteps until the owner practically vaulted into him.

He didn’t quite know what happened. One minute, he was walking along peacefully, minding his own business, and then  _ WHAM! _ He was practically frenching the ground. Usually, he would buy it dinner first, but oh, well! Too late now. Looks like his eight-month plan to woo and enchant the floor before asking it out just went out the window.

Groaning, Nick peeled himself off the floor to look at whoever had just crashed into him. All he was a hazy blur of dark hair, olive skin, and black robes with a splash of honeycomb yellow, which meant that either his glasses had fallen off or he really needed a new prescription.

“Oh, gods, are you okay?” asked the kid, sounding worried. “I’m so sorry! My robes are too long, and I tripped over them―”

“It’s fine,” Nick said quickly. “Little battered, but I’m fine.” He patted the floor around him, trying to feel his glasses, and absently blushed. Oh, gosh, first the kiss and now he was getting  _ handsy _ ? Ugh, at this rate Madame Floor would be expecting a proposal before the hour was over.

The kid tapped his shoulder and held up something black and vaguely oblong-looking, which, as Nick would find out a moment later when the kid placed them on his face and he could see again, turned out to be the very optical-enhancers he had been searching for.

Finally able to see, Nick quickly recognized the kid from the Sorting. “Oh, hey, I know you!” he said. “Um...Tristan? No, Troy?”

“Tryg,” the kid said with a laugh, sweeping a dark curl behind his ear. Their eyes were the most peculiar shade of lilac, Nick noticed absently, an eye colour that Nick had only ever heard of. It looked a bit odd, but contrasted nicely with the darkness of their hair and skin.

“Right.” Nick flushed. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright―I know it’s a strange name.” Tryg smiled. They had a faint accent unlike anything Nick had ever heard before, almost like a mixture of English and American. It was...interesting. “My parents had a funny sense of humor. I mean, my brother’s name is Annar.”

Tryg and Annar. What peculiar names… Nick liked it. “Well, my name suddenly feels very common,” he replied, chuckling. “I’m Nick, by the way. I have a brother too―I was actually going to the owlery to send a letter to him right now.”

Tryg’s eyebrows raised. “That’s so weird, I was about to do the same thing!” They grinned, flashing white teeth and got to their feet. Extending a hand to help Nick up, they asked, “Walk together?”

Nick smiled back, and gladly took it. “Definitely.”

 

~~

 

_ Dear Chase, _

_ Hey, big bro. Yeah, this letter is going to be awkward, and you’re probably going to be cringing in your satin sheets at your hoity-toity French school, but deal with it. It’s weird having to write to you instead of just talking to you face to face, and I had trouble even managing this. I spent all night working through different drafts of this letter, so if I fall asleep in class on my first day, then it’s all your fault, you prick. (Love you~) _

_ So, surprise, surprise, guess who just continued the family line of Slytherins! Yup, me. You know, I’ve always been told that I was a snake, but I guess this just confirms it. _

_ It’s actually really nice here so far, but at the same time not. I feel like the the only Slytherin who doesn’t care for the pure-blood ideology, which, as I’m certain you could tell, makes it hard to make friends. I think I sort-of kind-of befriended Draco Malfoy (you know, his Dad works with the Ministry), but I don’t know if this is going to be a frenemies sort of thing or a just plain enemies sort of thing. He’s kind of pompous―okay, he’s  _ _ very _ _ pompous―but I might be able to change his mind…maybe. I hope. He seems like he could be a cool guy if it weren’t the whole “rawr rawr no-majs are a disgrace” thing, y’know? _

_ The Slytherin commons are in a literal DUNGEON, Chase. I make no jokes. My new room in in a dungeon. Admittedly, it’s a very nice dungeon, and the beds are comfy, and the windows have the most spectacular view out into the lake (I think I saw a mermaid swim by last night!), it just doesn’t feel like home. Nowhere feel like home without you, Chase. _

_ Blargh, that was sappy. Forget that was ever written. Ignore it. Bring it up and you die. _

_ Anyway, I hope you’re doing well. Write back soon, please! I really do miss you, even if you are an idiot. _

 

_ Love your more awesome twin, _

_ Nick _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that it took me so long to update! School started Thursday, and the weeks before that were a whirlwind of back-to-school stuffs and various other whatnots.
> 
> Okay, NOTES!
> 
> -I think I'm going to try to whirl through Nick's first and second year, given that was I have planned for starts in third year (partially because Hogsmeade is good for dates and I have trouble writing younger characters for fear that I write them awkwardly.) I'll probably stick to a few major events in each year, keep it short... Yeah?
> 
> -Yeah, this chapter is a bit more sardonic than the others---I honestly don't know how that happened, to be honest, given that I don't usually write so sarcastically---but, hey, I try.
> 
> -FOR THOSE OF YOU CONFUSED AS TO WHY TRYG WAS REFERRED TO AS "THEY/THEM": Tryg in my original story is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns, and it didn't feel right to change that for this. Besides, I actually don't know what Tryg's sex is, so if I made them cis for this story, I wouldn't even know what to refer to them as, anyway.
> 
>  
> 
> I hate to feel like I'm being needy or anything, but leaving a review really does help me get these chapters out sooner. If it weren't for TryAgain_FailAgain_Failbetter's comment, I may not have gotten this one done. :)


	5. 5. A Letter

#  **[5]**

##  **A Letter**

 

By the time Friday rolled around, Nick had familiar enough with the castle to avoid getting lost most of the time, but he still had only one friend.

Tryg was actually pretty cool. In a week, Nick had managed to learn that Tryg came from a family of Hufflepuffs, but as their parents had died when Tryg was young, they and Annar were living with a well-known Slytherin family, the Morgensterns, an old family friend. Luke, their adoptive brother, was in third year, and Nick had remembered seeing him around the Slytherin common room―Nick had mistaken him for a Malfoy at first, for Luke had the same white-blonde hair and sharp features as a Malfoy, but those coal-black eyes of his were entirely Morgenstern. Annar was seven years older than Tryg, and had graduated the year before; he was studying to be a healer at St. Mungo’s now.

Luke was actually pretty chill for a Slytherin. He kept to himself, mostly, avoided the controversial topics that always seemed to spring up in the common room after dinner, and wasn’t afraid to talk openly to his Hufflepuff kid sibling in public. It was a bold move in a house dominated by people who openly scorned such interactions, but the Morgensterns had a rep scary enough that no one dared talk about it to Luke’s face. The only reason that Nick hadn’t talked to him yet was because….well… _Luke was scary._

Friday provided a new source of entertainment: Namely, Double Potions with the Gryffindors. Double Potions was just like regular Potions class except twice as long, and, as Nick was positively horrid at cooking, he didn’t like his odds.

He bid farewell to Tryg at the Dungeons corridor, for Tryg’s next class was in the opposite direction, and descended down the stairs alone. Nick feared he would never quite get used to the sudden chill that only ever seemed present in the dungeons or in the midst of ghosts, and he really didn’t like the cold. Even in Nebraska, when the winter months had come on quick and strong, Nick had always preferred to be curled up by the wood-burning stove in a cocoon of blankets with a good book than anything else; he’d rather be almost too warm than even the slightest bit chilly. It was something Chase had always teased him about.

When Nick found the classroom, thankfully avoiding getting lost in the labyrinthine mess of the dungeons, he only barely had time to sink into a desk before their teacher came sweeping in.

The potions classroom was a great cave of a room, dark and dank as the dungeons that housed it. Rough wooden tables that were the desks, each designed to seat four students along one side, took up the back half of the room, most of them already filled with students. Nick spotted Malfoy’s blonde sheen of hair up near the front, flanked―unsurprisingly―by Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dumber. The front of the classroom was reserved for a teacher’s podium, a small door that Nick suspected lead to a storage area for potions ingredients, and a large chalkboard that took up an entire wall. It was strangely nostalgic seeing a chalkboard here; Nick’s elementary school had used chalkboards too, and every day he would only pray that he wasn’t the one being stuck behind to clean all of the erasers.

The walls were lined with shelves packed to the brim of all assortment of oddities floating in glass jars―a baby mouse, what looked like a pickled alligator’s tongue, and something that looked suspiciously like a cluster of human eyeballs, to name a few.

Feeling more than a bit unsettled, Nick took the first empty seat he saw, behind a Gryffindor girl with dark skin and wild curly hair. He offered her a friendly smile just to show that he meant no harm, and to his absolute delight, she returned it.

“I’m Nick,” he whispered to her.

“Hermione,” she responded.

Not a moment later, the door was flung open, and their professor came sweeping down the aisle.

Severus Snape wasn’t a very pleasant man. He was tall and narrow with a hunched back and a large, hooked nose and greasy black hair that fell in curtains around his face. His small, dark eyes were like beetles embedded in his sallow flesh, and his mouth, when not moving, was naught but a thin, deep crease in his face, closer to his chin than the bottom of his nose.

His attitude was just as, if not more, sour than his expression. In his monotonous voice, he called out roll at the beginning of class, much to Nick’s embarrassment. Not only did the list refer to him by his loathed full name, he also made the mistake of habitually calling out _“Here!”_ upon hearing his name, which apparently, wasn’t custom here at Hogwarts. Nick slunk down in his seat, cheeks red, as his Slytherin peers snickered at his slip-up.

Only Hermione was nice, offering him a sympathetic glance before responding to her own name being called by raising her hand.

If anything good could be said about the Potions professor and Nick’s Head of House, it was that he knew how to capture a room. Even though his voice was the most dull, gravelly thing that Nick had ever heard, he, along with many other students found themselves on the edge of their seats when he began his lecture.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making,” Professor Snape began, and the class found themselves in absolute silence. There was something about him that made even the most garrulous of students bite their tongues, for fear of whatever punishment he could dole out. Nick had heard a rumor that some of the jars held pieces of students that got on Snape’s bad side, and while he wasn’t foolish enough to believe such an obvious tall tale, he still didn’t feel like Snape was someone to make an enemy of.

“As there is little foolish wand-waving here,” the professor droned on, “many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins… I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death―that is, if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

Dread formed a lovely little wading pool in the pit of Nick’s stomach. Irrationally, he felt as though Snape were speaking directly to him when saying the word _“dunderheads”,_ and while it wasn’t a term that Nick was familiar with, the tone with which it was said _was_ familiar enough for him to glean the meaning. Nick dropped his eyes to the stained wooden desktop before him, a terrible feeling gripping him. An icy hand had slithered into his ribcage and had gripped its dark fingers around his lungs, making it hard to breath.

Around him, time seemed to slow. Nick took a deep breath and closed his eyes, remembering the game that he and Chase used to play whenever this happened. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. _Find and describe five things you can see right now, four things you can feel, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste._

 

  * __Hermione’s frizzy hair, close enough to touch. Dark, thick, wild curls that should make her look unkempt but instead are actually kind of adorable. Must be a nightmare to manage, though.__


  * _Malfoy’s perfect slicked-back hair. Seriously, he could give those Ken dolls a run for their money, and their hair is literally plastic!_


  * _That funny little bugger in that blue glass jar. Is that a fish or a pickled chicken head?..._



 

 

By the time Nick grounded himself and was able to start paying attention again, he was aware that the rest of the class was laughing at something. Momentary panic flashed through him at the thought that they were laughing at him, but then he caught sight of Harry Potter’s barely concealed grin, and realized that it wasn’t teasing laughter, but instead a reaction to something the Gryffindor had said. Even some of the Slytherins were chuckling―Malfoy, of course, was studiously keeping up his irritated scowl, clearly not over Potter’s rejection, but Nick saw the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Sit _down_ ,” Snape snapped at Hermione, who was standing with her hand raised in the air. She quickly obliged, practically jumping back into her seat. Then the professor spun on Harry Potter. “For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?”

Nick, as well as many other students, immediately began to pull out their parchment and quills.

This was going to be a long two hours.

 

As Nick pretty much expected, the rest of the class period didn’t go much better at all.

When they were sorted into pairs for the day’s lesson, he was teamed up with Hermione, which wasn’t so bad in itself; she was actually quite brilliant, and was patient enough with his utter lack of Potions prowess. She managed to keep him from doing something wrong and accidentally blowing up the classroom―though the same couldn’t be said for Seamus Finnigan and Neville Longbottom, two Gryffindors who managed to do the exact opposite of the assignment by turning their brew to _cure_ boils into a brew that _caused_ boils, resulting in Longbottom being rushed to the infirmary.

Then, of course, there was the matter of Draco Malfoy, who was, of course, Snape’s golden child. Apparently, Draco was rather smart as well as being a major dickwad, which only served to make Nick loathe him more. No, perhaps “loathe” wasn’t the right word. There was a term that Chase had used once upon a time― _anathema._ Draco Malfoy was anathema to Nick.

Yeah, he liked the sound of that.

At least Snape hadn’t found much fault in Nick and Hermione’s potion. The professor begrudgingly gave them a pass and stalked away to nitpick the other students’ potions. Nick had sagged against the table in relief, and Hermione had seemed happy, but not very surprised. Nick got the impression that she was very smart, and thus briefly wondered if she would have been better off in Ravenclaw, but didn’t say anything. His mind went to Chase, immediately, and spiralled down that path it so often did. Chase would like Hermione, Nick decided quickly; they were both quite intelligent wizards, and he was certain that they would find much to talk about if they were ever to meet.

Chase’s response letter, received during breakfast that morning via Chase’s owl, Aatish (an Arabic word meaning fire, named for the fact that Aatish’s red colouring and surprising speed caused him to appear to be a living flame when flying), was burning a hole in the pocket of Nick’s robes―no pun intended. He had yet to read it, for he didn’t dare read it at the Slytherin table. Luckily, after lunch, he had the rest of the day off; another reason that Hogwarts was better than no-Maj schools.

So the moment that they were released for lunch, Nick gathered up his things and flew like a bat out of hell. Out of the dungeons and up into the land of the living once more.

He was quiet all throughout lunch, impatient. His knee bobbed up and down under the table, and any appetite he may have harbored had all but vanished. Nick barely touched a thing on his plate, which his peers seemed to notice; a few of them cast befuddled looks his direction, including Malfoy, but that didn’t matter to him―all Nick could think about was the letter in his breast pocket.

Finally, when he couldn’t take it any longer, he leapt to his feet and dashed out of the Great Hall early, before the lunch period was even over. He didn’t notice the eyes that he attracted by leaving so abruptly, not even the steely grey ones from the table he’d just vacated.

 

On the third day of school, while exploring the vastness of the Hogwarts library with Tryg, Nick had discovered his new favourite place in the world.

The farthest corners of the library held some of the oldest content―books that students and teachers alike hardly found use for anymore. These corners were dark, abandoned places with dusty tables and even dustier books, for even the house elves―castle elves?―that kept the school clean found themselves forgetting their existence. The isolation of these corners from just about any living being made them the absolute perfect place for Nick and Tryg to form their own secret hide-out. They’d staked out a narrow little table framed by towering bookshelves housing books whose titles were in languages long dead and gone and had claimed it as their own little secret clubhouse, of sorts.

Tryg, ever the surprise, had pulled out an inch-long pocket knife with a handle of Mother of Pearl and set to carving their names into the table―for generations to come, they said. Even if their names weren’t remembered in the history books, Tryg had went on, someday, somehow, someone would discover these names one day.

It was a bit dense of a thought for the early evening, and frankly sounded far too similar to Nick’s occasional existential maunderings that only occur after one in the morning when he had trouble falling asleep for his liking. When Nick had told them such, Tryg had just laughed and apologized, explaining that Luke was the philosophical one, not them.

But now Nick headed there alone, Tryg left behind in the Great Hall, likely not even aware of his absence. In these past days since they’d claimed their place, it had become somewhat of a latibule for him. If he wasn’t paying attention between classes, Nick would find himself drifting in the direction of the library instead of going to his next class, especially if he was feeling overcrowded. It was his go-to place to be alone―and right now, he wanted to be alone.

Once in the library, Nick walked briskly past Madame Pince’s desk―thankfully, and surprisingly, the old crone wasn’t there―and headed straight for the far corner. He was in such a rush that he didn’t bother to do the befuddle maneuver that Tryg had not so jokingly suggested just the day before―weaving in and out and all about the library aisles at random to discourage anyone who might wish to follow them, thus keeping their secret place, well, _secret._

Once there, Nick pulled out one of the chairs assigned to the table and plopped down into it unceremoniously; a great cloud of dust coughed up around him, coating the seat of his pans and part of his robes. When he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, the sleeves of his white shirt dirtied terribly, but that was the furthest thing from his mind. With shaking hands, Nick pulled the letter from his pocket and ripped through the wax seal bearing his family’s crest of the silver fox. A moment later, his brother’s familiar handwriting stared up at him from the meticulously folded piece of mundane notebook paper.

 

_Dear Nick,_

_I do hope that you’re aware that absolutely nothing you could write could be more cringy than the things you do and say in real life, right? The fact that you were having trouble putting words to paper when writing to me is nothing for you to fret about; this is the third time I’ve attempted this reply. Neither of us are accustomed to communicating this way, so it’s perfectly natural if we find difficulty in doing so at first. It'll get easier over time, I’m sure._

_Congratulations on being sorted into Slytherin. Have you told father, yet? I’m sure he’d be glad to hear it._

_It saddens me to hear that you’re having trouble finding your place amongst your peers, but at least it is a problem we have in common. (I’m fairly certain that my fellow students are taking advantage of ignorance of the French language to talk about me without my realizing, though that may be your inflated sense of paranoia rubbing off on me.) And as for the whole Draco Malfoy thing: did you really think it would go well? Nick, you’ve met his father. Some people are irenic, some are advocators of senseless hate. I fear that the Malfoys fall into the latter category._

_Your dorms are in the dungeon? How bizarre. My room is in a drafty old tower that it already positively freezing, though it has the most gorgeous view of the school grounds. Oh, I wish you could see Beauxbatons, Nick. You would positively adore it here. Just the other day, it rained, and oh―_

_Are you familiar with the term “chrysalism?” I believe that I’ve used it before, but I’m not certain. Anyway, it refers to the tranquil feeling of being inside during a thunderstorm. Oh, it was lovely._

_I miss you too, Nick. As amazing as Beauxbatons may sound, it really is rather dull without you here. All of my classmates are rather prissy and stuffy, and few think much of me anymore. Whatever hold our family name has in the wizarding community seems somewhat diminished when they become aware of my all-too-apparent Americanism. Why, I haven’t the foggiest―I thought the French and the Americans liked each other?? Of course, that may just be no-Maj history. Who knows what happened on the magical side of things…_

_Anywho, I’m writing this after light’s out, and my hand is beginning to cramp from using these god-Forsaken quills. Honestly, I understand that no-Maj technology doesn’t work because exposure to magic will make it sentient, but who on earth decreed that wizards must use writing utensils that no-Majs discarded a century ago? I_ _swear_ _, tomorrow I may just break out my package of Bic pens and start using those._

_I have to stop here, but I’ll write the next chance I get._

_I love you too, Nick, even if you are occasionally insufferable. Hang in there, alright? Things will get better._

 

_Chase._

_(P.S. You WISH you were the more awesome twin. Unfortunately for you, that title goes to me. Ha!)_

 

Nick didn’t realize he was crying until the tears fell hot and heavy on the letter, blurring a few of the words.

How utterly like Chase to do something like this. To ramble on using those big words of his, go on about how his new school sucked too, even writing on notebook paper, something Nick was familiar with and would take comfort in―all to make Nick feel better.

“You idiot,” Nick whispered, swiping at his cheeks with his sleeve, smearing dust across his face. But he was smiling, because Chase really _did_ know how to make him feel better, even if they were thousands of miles apart.

And a moment, just a moment, their great divide just didn’t seem so impossibly vast anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long wait, I know. I'm sorry. I've been working diligently on my book, and then there's the matter of school... I needed a break from all that and recalled this story and, well, here we are.
> 
> After the sarcastic nature of the last chapter, I'm sure this one is very mild in comparison, but the past two days I haven't had it in me to be the sarcastic little shit I normally am in my writing.
> 
> I'm planning on only having maybe three more chapters that take place in first year before I move on to second; after Halloween, none of the major events in the original story will apply much at all to Nick, as he won't be directly involved, and I thus don't see much reason to include a version of them at all.
> 
> Also, the method that Nick uses to ground himself from an anxiety/panic attack is actually true. While I've personally never tried it myself, I know people who swear by it. 
> 
> ~Felix

**Author's Note:**

> Nick has a tendency to use old-fashioned slang---as evidenced above.
> 
> Big cheese: hotshot; someone important
> 
> Berries: (as in "it's the berries") the best
> 
> Scram: leave quickly


End file.
